Chapter Text
You wake before the alarm.
Outside, Linkon City stretches into a soft pre-dawn hush, the skyline washed in pale blue and the last stars retreating behind high-rises. Your bedroom glows faintly with the ambient lightscape still flickering on your wall—soft lunar halos, the kind you set weeks ago and haven’t changed since.
You lie there for a moment, listening.
There's no sound from the floor above. Xavier’s apartment is quiet.
Your body aches in places that aren’t physical. The kind of hurt that doesn’t heal with time or treatment. You press your palm over your sternum to ground yourself. Still here. Still real. Still you.
A blink and the lightscape dims, shifting into the translucent menu of your daily schedule. Patrol at 0900. Briefing room 12. You don’t need the reminder, but routine is a scaffold. Without it, the memory of Caleb might bleed into the morning.
You rise.
Your apartment is quiet as you move, bare feet on warm flooring, the plush rug cool under your toes. You pass the curved clothing rack without pausing. The black jacket is already set out, sleeves draped neatly over the bench at the foot of your bed.
The bathroom lights rise in gentle gradients as you enter. You don’t look at your reflection for longer than needed to tie your hair back, swipe moisturizer across your face, and ignore the new scar on the inside of your arm that is a souvenir from Skyhaven. One of many.
By the time you step into the kitchen, the holographic display flickers to life above the stove.
"Recipe suggestion: jasmine rice and—"
You swipe it away. Coffee will do.
The machine hums softly, steam curling into the space like breath. You lean against the counter, pouring the coffee into a thermos, eyes fixed on nothing.
The city stirs outside. Somewhere far off, a zero-gravity train slides through its rails. Down below, lights flicker on in apartment windows.
Xavier hasn’t messaged yet. Not unusual. He usually doesn’t until he’s five minutes from your door, but part of you expects it anyway. The part of you that aches for anchors.
You slip your boots on by the door, thumbing the zipper up one side. The smell of coffee lingers in the thermos gripped in your left hand. You tug your jacket on with your right, shrugging it over your shoulders in a practiced motion, then grab the small pouch on the counter and put it in your pocket.
The city’s already humming by the time you unlock the door. You twist the handle—
—and nearly slam into him.
Xavier is standing at your threshold, hand half-raised to knock. His eyes go wide for a split second, then narrow slightly, like he’s bracing for impact that doesn’t come.
You’re so close his breath fogs faintly against the morning chill still clinging to the hallway.
You don’t move right away. Neither does he.
Then:
"Morning," he says softly.
You blink once, recovering. "You’re early."
"So are you." A pause. His gaze flicks to the thermos in your hand. "Didn’t sleep again?"
You lift it in answer. “Didn’t feel like it.”
His expression tightens, just a fraction. Then he steps back, giving you room. You lock the door behind you. His jacket shifts as he turns slightly, walking beside you.
The elevator dings at the end of the hall. You both step in.
It hums downward, the soft glow of the interface illuminating your reflections in the glass paneling. You glance at the set of his jaw, the quiet way he holds himself like someone trained never to take up space.
"You don’t have to come by every morning," you say finally, eyes on the numbers ticking down.
"I know." A beat. “But I wanted to.”
The elevator opens.
The lobby is sleek and sunlit, the front desk empty this early.
Outside, Linkon City spills open in clean lines and chrome shimmer. The air smells like ozone and steel.
You pause at the edge of the sidewalk. The magline tram hums by two blocks down, on time as always.
But your eyes drift toward the alley where your motorbike waits, parked beneath a neon-slick awning with dew still drying on the chassis.
You nod once toward it. “Ride with me?”
Xavier follows your gaze. "You sure?"
"I’ll drive. You hang on.”
He smiles and follows you into the sunlight.
You cross the street in practiced strides, Xavier matching your pace half a step behind. The alley’s quiet, save for the soft drip of rain runoff and the distant mechanical whirr of the city shaking off its sleep.
Your motorbike waits like a loyal hound—sleek, black, half-covered in drying condensation. You brush a glove over the seat as you unhook your helmet from the handlebar.
Then you reach into the back compartment and toss the second one toward him.
He catches it one-handed, eyes lifting in mild surprise. “Still carrying a spare?”
“Always.” You shrug. “You break into my apartment at ungodly hours often enough. Figured I should plan for the inevitability.”
A soft huff, close enough to be a laugh. He settles the helmet over his head, adjusting the strap.
The moment yours locks into place, the click triggers the internal mic.
“Comm check,” you say aloud.
His voice pings back clear through the speaker in your ear. “Reading you.”
You swing your leg over the seat, boot hitting the ground for balance as you turn the key. The engine hums to life beneath you. You feel Xavier settle in behind you, warm and solid, arms looping lightly around your waist without hesitation.
The motion shouldn’t make your pulse skip, but it does.
You gun the throttle once and pull out of the alley.
Linkon blurs past in streaks of silver and muted neon, wind tugging at your jacket. The city’s waking up around you—automated shops flickering online, mag-trams threading overhead, and the early shift foot traffic already filling the crosswalks in ordered waves.
Xavier’s voice comes through the speaker again, quiet but not impersonal. “Any word from Caleb?”
The question punches through your ribs like a second heartbeat. Your grip on the handles tightens.
“No,” you say. “Not since I left Skyhaven.”
“Good.”
You don’t answer.
The silence stretches again, but this time, it’s edged with unspoken things—the ache of old memories, the cold click of doors that don’t reopen, the heat of a body pressed close only because the ride demands it.
You take a sharp turn through the underpass, catching a glimpse of your reflection in the mirrored steel archway, two riders moving as one, mirrored in motion, in weight, in silence.
"You ever think about taking a desk job?” Xavier asks. “Just for a little while.”
You exhale through your nose. “Not unless they put the desk on wheels and let me shoot from it.”
He chuckles. “Figures.”
You ease up on the throttle as the spire of the Hunter’s Association HQ comes into view, all glass and stone and vigilance.
You kill the engine just outside the Hunter’s Association front entrance. The curved glass facade gleams beneath the climbing sun, and the lobby beyond is already in motion—Hunters in uniform brushing past intake terminals, boots clicking across polished tile.
Xavier dismounts behind you without a word, handing you his helmet. You stash both in the rear compartment, the latch snapping shut.
You’re barely halfway to the entrance when the doors slide open and Tara barrels straight into your personal space.
“There you are!” she announces, coffee in one hand and a bright yellow tablet in the other, already moving into your path. Her short hair is tucked back, and her usual jacket is tied haphazardly around her waist like she sprinted here.
“Morning to you, too,” you mutter, sidestepping instinctively. She sidesteps with you.
“You were supposed to ping me when you got back from that double shift last night! You didn’t even send a single emoticon. Not even the grumpy face you like so much.” She holds her tablet up accusingly. “Unacceptable.”
“I was busy not dying,” you say. “And sleeping.”
“Ugh. Fine. Excused.” She tosses a glance at Xavier over your shoulder, smirking. “Morning, Mr. Tall, Quiet, and Bad-At-Ghostings.”
He blinks, unbothered. “Good morning, Tara.”
The fact that he answers at all makes her grin widen. “See? He’s improving. It’s the emotional support trauma, I’m telling you. Works wonders for social development.”
You sigh. “Can we not do this before briefing?”
“Too late,” she chirps, falling into step beside you as the three of you enter through the sliding doors. The cool air of the lobby hits instantly, recycled and clean, faintly metallic.
Tara waves her tablet at the security scanner without stopping, and it flashes green.
You cross the open foyer, past massive holo-screens projecting current threat levels in each sector. In the center, a 3D map of Linkon City rotates gently, lit up with blinking orange points. One pulses near the southern outskirts.
“Protofield alert?” Xavier asks.
Tara nods. “C-class. They’re holding it until Beta Team’s back from White Sector. Jenna wants everyone upstairs in five for briefing.”
Figures. You’ve barely returned, and the next hunt’s already waiting.
The elevator doors open with a chime. Tara slides in first, spinning to lean her shoulder against the wall, tablet resting on her hip like a weapon. You and Xavier follow.
She eyes you both as the doors close.
“So. Just to recap,” she says brightly. “We’re entering a potentially unstable protofield, it’s barely 0800, and neither of you have slept properly in forty-eight hours.”
You sip your coffee. “Sounds like a Tuesday.”
Xavier doesn't speak, but the corners of his mouth twitch.
“Unbelievable,” Tara mutters, smiling into her tablet. “Jenna’s going to eat someone alive this morning. I hope it’s not me. Again.”
You sip your coffee again, letting the quiet settle.
Tara glances up. “You sure you’re okay?”
You don’t answer right away. The elevator hums as it climbs.
“I’m not the one with permanent dark circles,” you finally say.
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. The dead-inside jokes. That’s how I know you’re not okay.”
You manage a small smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Tara studies you a second longer, then looks to Xavier instead.
He meets her gaze with unreadable calm.
“She doesn’t need to be okay to be effective,” he says quietly.
You tilt your head toward him. “That’s… almost encouraging.”
His lips quirk. “Almost.”
The elevator pings.
The doors part to reveal the familiar expanse of the team’s floor, all angular lines and dark metal, dotted with holo-interfaces and lockers lining the walls. A few Hunters mill about, gearing up or scrolling through briefings.
You spot Jenna at the front, arms crossed, already in uniform and tapping something out on the tabletop screen that flickers with mission readouts. Her expression doesn’t shift as you approach, but her eyes clock all three of you in an instant.
“You’re late,” she says flatly.
“We’re early,” you counter.
“For a catastrophe, sure,” Jenna mutters. “We’re not there yet. Give it fifteen minutes.”
Tara peels off toward the side terminal to dock her tablet. You and Xavier step up to the central display. Jenna taps it once, and the image flares into the rotating map of Linkon City.
Orange pulses dot the southern quadrant. Not a protofield yet,but close.
“Metaflux levels have been spiking since around 0300,” Jenna says. “No Wanderers have emerged, but the fluctuations are consistently rising. It’s clean. ”
You frown. “Clean usually means quiet.”
“Not this time,” Tara calls from behind. “It’s too clean. That’s what’s weird.”
Xavier studies the map. “Which zone’s the epicenter?”
Jenna zooms in. A blinking orange glow illuminates a strip of an industrial zone near the edge of city borders.
“Galdur Street. Just outside the Greenline Transport Hub,” Jenna says. “Factory warehouses, old rail access. Mostly abandoned now. That’s where the signal’s strongest.”
You lower your thermos. “You want eyes on it.”
“Exactly. You and Xavier, gear up. Take the perimeter. If the metaflux pattern holds, we’ve got a guarantee of something showing up.”
You nod once, already shifting mentally into mission mode.
“What are we looking for?” Xavier asks.
“Anything out of place. Protocores, air distortion, acoustic anomalies, weird light behavior—anything.”
“And if Wanderers do appear?”
Jenna’s eyes narrow even as she smiles faintly. “Stay together, and do what you do best.”
Tara mutters something about “Famous last words,” from her station.
You turn toward the lockers, already punching in your code. The door hisses open, revealing your standard kit—twin pistols, holsters, reinforced vest. You put it on and double-check your Hunter’s Watch on your wrist.
Xavier is already waiting by the equipment bay doors, keys in hand for one of the Association-issued black vehicles waiting just beyond the exit ramp. Sleek. Fast. Overkill, really, for patrol, but no one’s going to argue when the metaflux’s rising.
You nod. “You’re driving.”
The vehicle opens with a soft chirp as you step in, the doors lifting like wings. You slide into the passenger seat, letting the harness auto-lock over your shoulder as the dash lights flicker to life in a soft pulse of blue.
Outside, Jenna’s silhouette watches until you vanish into traffic.
Xavier takes you south, slipping into the stream of speed-tiered lanes with practiced ease. The city slides past— as glass bridges, neon signs flickering above food stalls, the distant silhouette of the magrail threading across the skyline like a pulse line.
The silence between you is familiar.
Still, after a few minutes, you clear your throat. “Can we make a detour?”
Xavier glances sideways, then back to the road. “How far?”
“Three minutes tops. Akso Hospital.”
He signals and shifts lanes, merging off the main line.
You reach into your pocket and pull out a small velvet pouch, the kind that usually holds jewelry. Inside are strawberry hard candies, each wrapped in crinkled paper, twisted closed by hand.
You’d made them last night, trying to keep your mind off memories that clung too close.
Zayne likes them. Always has. Said once they reminded him of simpler things—summer days and street stalls, sweet things that made long hours bearable.
The hospital’s clean silhouette comes into view quickly—all reinforced glass and geometric steel, its glowing blue cross flashing against the backdrop of distant high-rises.
Xavier pulls into a bay near the front entrance.
“I’ll keep the engine warm,” he says.
You nod and step out into the crisp morning air. The automatic doors hiss open, letting in the scent of antiseptic and too-clean air.
Inside, the lobby is a blend of hushed voices, sterile light, and quiet urgency. You spot the reception desk immediately when you make it to the cardiology wing. Behind it is Yvonne.
“Morning,” you greet.
She looks up, startled at first, then breaks into a warm, slightly exasperated smile. “Oh, sweetheart. You're alive. That’s always a good start.”
You smirk faintly. “Barely. I’m looking for Zayne. Is he in?”
“Mmhm. He’s been in surgery since shortly after midnight. Eighth hour straight, cardiac case. Didn’t even stop for tea.” She eyes the pouch in your hand. “Please tell me those are what I think they are.”
You hold it out. “He can have them after.”
Yvonne takes the pouch with a soft chuckle. “I’ll make sure it gets to him. You’ll make his whole day.”
“I hope so.”
You linger for just a second longer, then offer a short nod and turn back toward the exit.
Back in the car, you slide into the passenger seat, reclip your harness, and then tap quickly at your phone.
To Zayne:
Swung by Akso. You were mid-surgery, so I left something sweet with Yvonne. No skipping meals.
The engine hums back to life beneath you, the city already peeling away behind the glass as Xavier remerges onto the arterial road.
The city slides by in layers—blinking crosswalks, rising ad banners, the occasional glint of a sky-rail overhead.
You watch it all pass, your message to Zayne still lingering in the back of your mind like static.
Xavier doesn’t speak for a few blocks.
Then, without taking his eyes off the road, he asks, “What was in the pouch?”
You glance over. His voice is calm and laced with the rare kind of interest that doesn’t ask for more than you’re willing to give.
“Strawberry hard candies,” you reply. “Zayne likes them. I made a batch last night when I couldn’t sleep.”
Xavier hums the faintest note of acknowledgment. “You cook when your mind won’t shut off.”
You nod. “Sometimes. Something about measuring ingredients helps. Ratios. Heat. Structure.”
Another beat of silence. Then, softer: “You used to sketch.”
You blink. The comment catches you off guard.
“Back when you first came here,” he adds, still watching the road. “I remember you drawing on napkins during debriefs. Or mission maps.”
“I forgot you noticed that.”
“I notice a lot of things.”
You’re quiet after that, because there’s something about the simplicity of the moment that feels fragile, like glass underfoot.
After a while, you speak again.
“It’s not really about the candy,” you say. “It’s just… a way to remind him he’s not alone. That someone’s thinking of him.”
Xavier nods, almost to himself.
“I think he knows,” he says. “Even if you don’t say it out loud.”
You don’t answer, but your fingers curl slightly in your lap.
The vehicle’s internal map pings softly.
“Approaching Galdur Street.”
The cityscape shifts as Xavier takes the exit—rising towers giving way to warehouses, train lines, and rusted industrial shadows. This part of Linkon feels older. Fewer lights and more silence.
The metaflux meter on your Hunter’s Watch flickers faintly—nothing red yet, but steady pulses. Low, and rising.
Xavier slows as he turns into a narrow road flanked by half-collapsed fencing.
He eases the vehicle to a stop near an overgrown curb and cuts the engine.
“Doesn’t feel like anything’s shown up yet,” he says quietly. “But it will.”
You nod, already reaching for the door.
The air is still as you step out onto the cracked pavement.
Galdur Street stretches wide and empty, flanked by rusted warehouse skeletons and old magline tracks long overgrown with moss. A few birds scatter overhead, and the low hum of the city feels muted here, like it’s holding its breath.
Your boots crunch softly as you move. Xavier falls into step beside you, eyes scanning the shadows, fingers loose. The sync on your Hunter’s Watches links automatically—patrol route, vitals, metaflux readings all visible with a glance.
Current flux levels: low. Spiking every 17.4 seconds.
You walk the perimeter in silence for the first ten minutes, sweeping corners, checking structural weaknesses in the old buildings. The dust is thick and undisturbed, but something’s off.
You can feel it.
A tug, faint but constant, just behind your ribs, like gravity stretching sideways. You pause at a loading dock, laying your palm against the metal railing. It’s cold.
“You feel that?” you ask.
Xavier steps up beside you, eyes narrowing. “Wind pattern’s wrong. Static in the corners.” He taps his wrist, checking the scan logs. “No visual flares, but something’s pressing.”
You nod slowly. “Like air before a storm.”
You press on, deeper into the maze of industrial corridors. A flickering streetlamp buzzes above you, strobing once, then going dark. Your watch pings softly. Spikes are faster now. 12.3 seconds.
Twenty more minutes pass. The readings stay just under threshold. Xavier doesn’t speak, but you see the way his posture shifts into something more alert and ready.
Your breath catches.
The resonance spikes in your chest like a scream underwater.
Your fingers curl around the grip of your pistol. Your body is already moving before your mind catches up.
“Xavier—”
You turn just as he does, and the sky rips open.
Your watches flare red a half-second later just as a howl splits the air like tectonic plates breaking.
Twisting from the space between is a thing of myth, of memory, of scale. Black stone layered in fractal ridges, wings unfurling in a stretch that eclipses the buildings around you. Molten veins pulse beneath its armored surface—blue, teal, deep indigo, like starlight through obsidian.
An Aeonwyrm.
Its form stretches like it was never meant to be contained in this dimension. It's massive, coiled, and crowned in a halo of burning void. Its head turns toward you, eyes like collapsing galaxies.
Your pulse slams in your throat. The protofield rushes outward and frost blooms across the concrete in a wide radius, air folding and snapping like it’s being rewritten around you.
Xavier’s voice cuts through your heartbeat, low and tight. “Run. Now.”
You sprint through the frost-hazed street, lungs burning as the protofield warps the air around you. A flicker of movement to your right—Xavier’s already veering toward cover, gesturing sharply.
You follow without hesitation, diving behind the shattered hull of an old rail cart. The metal groans beneath your weight, rimed with creeping ice that wasn’t there thirty seconds ago.
Overhead, the sky ripples.
The Aeonwyrm coils above the rooftops, its massive body moving with impossible fluidity, like space itself makes room for it. Its scales shimmer black and deep violet, streaked with nebular swirls of silver and blue. Gravity buckles faintly in its wake. Every wingbeat sends ripples through the air, a pressure behind your eyes that feels ancient.
Its mouth yawns open, revealing a stretching singularity of flickering void. A place things fall into and never return.
You press your back harder against the cart, heart thundering. “It’s an Aeonwyrm.”
He exhales sharply. “I thought those were extinct. There hasn’t been a live one spotted in years.”
You shake your head slowly, watching as the creature glides above the broken district like it owns the sky. “We found one once. Months ago.”
Xavier glances toward you, frowning. “The frozen corpse.”
You nod. “It wasn’t dead. Not really. It was feeding off ambient metaflux, slowly regenerating. Hiding itself in decay. We destroyed it before it could finish.”
“But it didn’t dissolve like the others,” he says, remembering. “Not until we killed it.”
“Yes,” you whisper. “It wasn’t like other Wanderers.”
Silence falls between you for a few seconds.
The Aeonwyrm banks mid-air, body curling through its own ripple like a ribbon of collapsed time.
“Think it saw us?” Xavier asks.
“I don’t think it sees the way we do.”
Your hand hovers near your pistol, but it’s reflex more than plan.
Beside you, Xavier shifts slightly. The light at his wrist glows, poised.
“If it gets closer, I’ll draw it,” he says quietly. “You move for high ground.”
You shoot him a sharp look. “Not a chance.”
“You felt it first.”
“Exactly. I’ll know if it turns.”
He holds your gaze for a beat longer. His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue.
Instead, you both crouch deeper into the shadows, still and silent, watching the impossible creature drift slowly down the street like a falling star slowed to a crawl.
Then a low, pulsing vibration spreads through the cracked pavement beneath you. A ripple. Like it’s listening. Like it’s calling .
You tap your Hunter’s Watch, voice steady despite the pressure pressing behind your sternum like a second heartbeat.
“Report to HQ—confirmed Protofield at Galdur Street. Very high level threat. We have visual confirmation of an Aeonwyrm. I repeat: Aeonwyrm. No civilian presence.”
The silence that follows is brief but heavy.
Then Jenna’s voice crackles through, clipped and grim. “Understood. Reinforcements en route—ETA five minutes. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary. Stay hidden and hold position.”
You open your mouth to respond, and the sky fractures.
The Aeonwyrm halts mid-glide. Its body ripples like a shudder through spacetime, wings curling inward, then snapping open with a silent pulse. The void in its maw begins to contract and shimmer.
You and Xavier both feel it at once.
You shout, “Move!”
Light erupts from the sky like a beam collapsing in reverse, and gravitational pressure slams into the ground where you were just crouched. The shattered rail car implodes behind you, vaporized into ribbons of nothing.
Xavier phases instantly, vanishing in a shimmer of pale light. You reappear beside him mid-sprint, breath catching in your throat, the familiar pull of his Evol tethered to your heartbeat.
No more hiding.
You slide to a stop and draw your pistols. Xavier lands ahead of you, blade in hand, a length of forged silver-blue light. His stance is still and focused.
The Aeonwyrm folds down, as if space collapses beneath it. The hum builds like pressure on your skin, then snaps outward in a gravitational pulse. The ground cracks. Windows explode along the warehouse line.
Xavier phases again, appearing above the beast’s flank mid-air, blade raised. The moment he strikes, his sword carves through its scales like silk—a long gash along one segment of the Aeonwyrm’s side.
It shudders in surprise. Its skin flexes in and out of dimensional phase, the wound already beginning to close.
You move to flank, ducking behind collapsed scaffolding. As you aim, the pistols in your hands hum, the silver-blue glow blooming outward from your palms, catching fire along the barrel.
Light-infused, synced to his power through your resonance.
You exhale once, find the rhythm in your chest—his rhythm—and pull the triggers.
Twin blasts streak through the fractured sky, slamming into the Aeonwyrm’s underbelly mid-shift. The pulses of energy crackle against its phasing hide, forcing it solid for just long enough.
Xavier reappears beneath its now-exposed core. His blade rises and strikes.
A scream bursts outward from the Aeonwyrm, a dissonant ripple through the protofield that makes your knees buckle. The sky warps above you. The temperature plummets.
You roll sideways behind cover as a pulse of antimatter shreds the ground you just stood on.
The Aeonwyrm rears upward, wings expanding in a ripple of collapsing space. Its body twists midair, its edges flickering between matter and vacuum—half-seen, half-felt. Stars flicker inside its body.
The wing snaps downward like a guillotine of warped gravity. Concrete folds beneath it, and a shockwave barrels through the debris.
You leap back, firing mid-air, silver-blue shots slamming into the limb with bursts of refracted light.
It staggers, barely. Enough.
Xavier phases to the creature’s opposite side—a streak of light arcing through the sky—reappearing with a downward slash that carves another molten line into its flank.
The Aeonwyrm jerks with another scream. The sky above fractures.
The hairs on your arms stand straight.
Then gravity tilts .
You’re flung backward into the side of a shipping crate. Pain sparks down your left shoulder as your spine meets steel. Your pistols slide across the ground.
The Aeonwyrm’s attention snaps to you.
It coils in midair, maw unfurling with pure, collapsing energy, the same thing that kills stars.
“Xavier!”
He phases directly into its path, a blinding arc of silver-blue. His lightblade flashes upward, and for a split second, the beam of energy splits just enough to miss you.
The shockwave hammers into the ground behind you, vaporizing a dozen feet of empty structures. A roar of destruction echoes like a dying planet.
You gasp in air, coughing through the pulse of resonance hammering through your skull. Your shoulder sings in agony—likely from the harsh impact. But you’re still breathing. Still burning.
You scramble up with your good arm. Your vision swims—
Xavier phases back into your side, arm catching you just as your knees start to buckle. His blade glows with radiant light, flickering but not fading.
“You still with me?”
You nod, teeth gritted. “We’re not done.”
Your Hunter’s Watch crackles, static and distortion, the protofield interfering. You barely make out Jenna’s voice: “—reinforcements—approaching perimeter— hold your ground —”
Too late to wait.
You hold your hand out, and one of your pistols re-materializes in your grip with a shimmer of silver light, summoned through your resonance with Xavier. Your other arm dangles uselessly, but it doesn’t matter. You can still fight.
Xavier moves in again, a burst of light that slashes across the Aeonwyrm’s lower spine, forcing its core to destabilize for a half-second.
You fire through the gap.
Silver-blue energy strikes home, right into the rupture.
The Aeonwyrm screeches. The kind of sound that eats silence alive. Its wings shudder. A pulse of dark energy radiates outward in one last retaliation.
Its form distorts with every passing second—too many dimensions trying to collapse into one. Its resonance shifts from overwhelming to unstable.
Xavier returns to your side, breath sharp but steady. You steady yourself with your good hand against the crumbling wall beside you.
“I can draw it down,” you say, voice low. “But I need you to end it.”
He looks at you, and you don’t need words.
He nods once, tight. “Resonate with me.”
You reach out, fingers brushing the edge of his wrist. Light floods between you, golden energy burning like a second sun. Your pulse syncs to his. Evols entwine, folding into each other like threads in a single braid—no longer a partial resonating, but one born of your full power.
The pistol in your hand hums as you raise it. The Aeonwyrm twists overhead, lurching lower, distorted from its own unraveling.
You take aim.
The first shot punches through the shimmer of its damaged flank—a pulse of piercing resonance that slams into its anchor point. The second follows an instant later.
It turns toward you with its collapsing void-maw open wide, preparing another gravitational scream—
But it’s too late.
Xavier phases mid-stride, vanishing into starlight.
He reappears above the creature, high above, suspended in a shimmer of silver light. His blade draws back—now brilliant, radiant, the very shape of a dying sun forged into a weapon.
And he brings it down.
The strike tears cleanly through the Aeonwyrm’s central core.
A single sound follows, a dissonant tone you feel more than hear, and then its body crumples, folding in on itself like paper burning without flame. The light in its form extinguishes, nebula colors draining to black.
The protofield trembles, then collapses.
A rush of air slams outward in a pressure wave as reality stabilizes. The frost on the pavement melts in seconds. The distortion in the sky fades. The echo of its presence—the way it made the world feel wrong—dissipates like smoke on the wind.
And then it’s quiet.
Xavier lands hard beside you, staggered slightly. He breathes through clenched teeth, lightblade flickering, then fading entirely, leaving behind only the regular blade he carries.
You lower your pistol with a trembling arm.
For a moment, the two of you just stand there, bruised, bloodied, but whole.
You break the silence first. “We’re going to hear about this in debrief, aren’t we?”
Xavier wipes blood from the edge of his mouth, then glances up at the sky.
“…A lot.”
You exhale, half a laugh, half a sigh.
You and Xavier move slowly through the debris field, each step echoing like it’s trespassing on sacred ground. The Aeonwyrm is gone—its impossible form unraveling into flickers of black dust, curling tendrils of light dissipating upward like burnt starlight.
Wanderers always vanish when they die. Dissolve into ash, into nothing. But this time, something remains.
You see it before he does.
Half-buried in a shallow crater formed by the collapse, nestled in cracked concrete like it’s been waiting for you.
A sphere-shaped protocore.
Perfectly smooth. White, almost luminescent, like it’s holding moonlight inside. And in the center, faint but unmistakable: a swirl of five colors, spiraling gently like a sleeping star.
Not a known protocore shape, and not a known stellactrum.
You step toward it, boots crunching through fractured stone. Xavier’s voice breaks the silence behind you.
“…What is that?”
You don’t answer, because something inside you has already started pulling .
It’s a soft pressure beneath your skin, the same way you feel resonance from a living thing. Only this time, it’s coming from it .
The sphere hums as you approach.
Your fingers tremble as you kneel favoring your uninjured arm. The pain in your shoulder is a distant thing now, eclipsed by the electric thrum rising in your chest.
You reach out.
The moment your fingertips touch the surface, the world explodes in gold.
A shockwave bursts outward in a ring of divine light. The color of dawn breaking through centuries of dark.
Xavier shouts your name, but the sound is swallowed by the resonance burst.
The sphere cracks with a crystalline scream, and then shatters.
Its energy implodes into you like a flood breaking through a dam.
You feel everything at once—every nerve set alight, every breath stolen, every piece of yourself cracking open just wide enough for the universe to look through.
Xavier is flung backward in a blast of force, skidding hard across the ground, rolling to a stop with a grunt, dazed but alive.
You crumple to your knees, eyes wide, gold still sparking at the edges of your vision.
Then everything goes white, and you collapse.
.・゜゜・╰──╮ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ╭──╯ ・゜゜・．
The blast still rings in his ears, the acrid taste of concrete sticking to his throat. Dust clouds the air. His muscles scream with each movement, but he ignores the pain.
She’s not moving.
He drops beside her in the wreckage, knees hitting cracked pavement. Her eyes are shut, breath shallow. Gold light flickers faintly beneath her skin like an echo trying to fade.
Her name is the first thing out of his mouth.
He checks her pulse, finding it fast and unsteady, but it’s there.
Relief comes, but only for a second.
Engines roar in the distance. Reinforcements. The cavalry finally arriving, lights flashing across the ruined block.
“Medic!” someone shouts.
He doesn’t let go until they reach her. When the medics try to move her onto the stretcher, he helps without being asked. His shoulder aches. He doesn’t care.
He climbs into the transport without waiting for permission.
Inside, she lies still, her breathing shallow, that strange golden flicker now almost gone.
He doesn’t speak as he watches her the entire way back.
The transport glides into the bay at Akso Hospital, doors sliding open before it’s fully stopped. A trauma team rushes forward, the light here bright and clean and clinical.
Xavier steps out just as they start moving her down the corridor.
Doctors bark updates. Nurses fall into motion. Her chart updates in real time on one of the overhead holo-screens.
Then the main doors at the end of the corridor open.
A tall, hazel-eyed man steps through in a brisk stride, surgical scrubs beneath his open coat. He moves with purpose, face focused, eyes immediately locking onto the incoming gurney.
“I’m Dr. Zayne,” he says to the lead nurse, already scanning her vitals. “I’m her assigned physician. What’s her current status?”
“Collapsed following Protocore contact,” the nurse replies. “No external wounds, but we recorded traces of a high-impact Evol reaction upon arrival. Unresponsive since.”
Zayne nods. “Bring her to Diagnostic. I’ll handle the intake and assessment directly.”
He doesn’t glance around until the gurney passes.
Then, he notices Xavier standing just outside the main corridor.
Their eyes meet with recognition.
Colleague. Friend. Doctor. Hunter. Each knows who the other is. That’s all.
Zayne gives a nod. A quiet, professional acknowledgment.
Xavier returns it, just as brief.
Then the emergency doors seal shut, and she disappears behind them.
The lights are sharp. The walls hum with recycled air. Somewhere down the hall, machines beep in steady rhythms that don’t match Xavier’s.
He leans against the wall outside the diagnostic wing, arms crossed, shirt torn along one shoulder. Blood dries in a long line across his ribs, the result of flying debris and proximity to a dying Aeonwyrm. Nothing serious. Nothing worth slowing down for.
A nurse tries to usher him toward the minor trauma wing. He declines without looking up.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s superficial.”
The nurse hesitates, clearly unconvinced, but there’s something in the way Xavier says it coldly and flatly that ends the conversation. She retreats with a soft nod and a quick glance down the hall where she was taken.
Footsteps echo down the hall moments later. Jenna appears, coat open over her uniform, dark hair tucked tight behind her ears, eyes already narrowed.
She stops a meter from him and looks him over once.
“Where is she?”
“Inside.”
Jenna’s gaze flicks to the sealed diagnostic doors. “Vitals?”
“She was stable in transit. Unconscious.”
Jenna exhales through her nose, glancing toward the nurses' station. “They said she touched something?”
“A Protocore.”
She turns back to him. “And what, it knocked her out?”
“No.” His eyes stay forward. “It cracked. The energy pulled into her. Then she collapsed.”
Jenna goes still.
“Describe the Protocore,” she says.
“Perfect sphere. No known Stellactrum. Swirling colors inside.”
Her brows draw low. “That doesn’t match any class.”
Xavier just nods. “No.”
She studies him again. “You should be getting looked at.”
“I don’t like hospitals.”
“Too bad. You’re still bleeding.”
He doesn’t respond.
After a moment, Jenna softens subtly. She looks back toward the diagnostics wing.
“They’ll take care of her.”
Xavier nods once, but he doesn’t move.
He has no intention of leaving.
Jenna turns, pacing toward the wall where she pulls out a tablet to start pulling security footage and field reports.
.・゜゜・╰──╮ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ╭──╯ ・゜゜・．
You stand at the edge of a vast dune field, the horizon stretching in all directions, wave after wave of rolling brilliance. The grains drift like ash and shimmer like constellations, floating just above the surface before settling again, as if gravity isn’t entirely convinced.
The sky above is deep violet, pulsing with stars too bright, too close. A second sun lingers just below the edge of the world, holding the entire landscape in a state of eternal dusk.
You walk through the shifting sands, though they do not hinder you. They part at your steps and whisper beneath your heels.
A figure moves ahead, barely visible, cloaked in robes of deep purple and black, a long dagger slung across his waist like a weapon forgotten or no longer needed. His boots make no impression on the sand, but the wind hums differently around him, as if tuned to his presence.
Something inside you reaches toward him, like a cord drawn taut across time.
He pauses. His head tilts just slightly toward the sunless sky.
There’s a moment where the world stills.
You hear the sea, but there is no sea. Only sand.
And yet, it moves. The dunes begin to breathe. The stars above flicker with tears, cascading gently across the sky.
He raises a hand to the horizon, and a line appears.
From it, water spills clear and endless and slow, flowing through the sand as though the desert has been waiting all this time to remember it was once an ocean.
The water turns gold as it spreads. Ripples across the dunes, changing them. Restoring them.
Your heart beats faster, because some part of you remembers this place. This moment.
And him.
Even without a name, even without a face.
Then he vanishes, swept away in a ripple of golden tide, as the desert turns to sea behind him.
And you fall—
Clouds wrap around your body like soft veils, weightless and cold. The air is sharp and sweet, thinner than it should be, filled with the scent of ice and wind and something else, something older.
You land lightly.
A narrow ledge stretches beneath your feet, carved into the side of a mountain so high it pierces the atmosphere. You stand above the clouds now, where the air glows faintly with pale light that never came from a sun.
There’s someone ahead of you.
He sits at the cliff’s edge, knees drawn to his chest, arms loosely wrapped around them, his head tilted up as if listening to something the rest of the world has long forgotten.
He doesn’t turn or speak, and yet, you know he knows you’re here.
Beyond him, the sky stretches wide and endless, painted in gradients of blue that melt into violet.
Then you see movement, far off, rising from the clouds below.
Wings, belonging to massive beasts, like the dragons of old.
Their silhouettes shimmer like they’ve been stitched into the sky.
He watches them without blinking.
And you feel an ache. The terrible, beautiful stillness in his chest. Like he’s waiting for something that will never come again.
And even though he does not cry, you know what it means to be hollowed by longing.
The mountain hums with it. The wind carries it. It presses gently behind your ribs, like fingers made of smoke.
You want to speak to him. To say something that might matter. But before you can move, he rises, and without hesitation, steps off the ledge.
He dissolves into air, into flower petals, into the silence he had always been part of.
And you, too, begin to fade—
Light filters through your skin.
Then, everything settles.
You open your eyes to a golden morning. Gentle. Too perfect.
You sit beneath a tree whose branches arch like stained glass, leaves glowing faintly with color that isn’t reflected anywhere else—warm reds, pale ambers, the kind of gold that only exists in the moment before waking.
The world is quiet here, and time feels smaller and slower all at once.
Across from you, a man kneels in the grass.
He’s arranging something along the ground. Small stones, flat and smooth, forming a circle you don’t understand until it’s nearly complete.
The wind plays with the edge of his robes. His presence is measured in the kind of stillness that comes after too many battles, not all of them physical.
You watch him add the final stone.
Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a single folded note of paper old enough to crumble, and he opens it with care.
He sets it in the center of the circle and presses it down with two fingers.
Sunlight begins to concentrate above the circle, pure and patient.
As it touches the note, it lifts and unravels, word by word, line by line, as though the light is reading it aloud, and in doing so, erasing it from time.
The man closes his eyes.
You don’t know the letter’s contents, but you don’t need to.
You feel the ache in your chest. The surrender. The choice to forget.
You reach toward him instinctually, and the dream fractures.
Light turns silver. The warmth slips through your fingers.
And then you are falling again, into the final depths of the dark.
The stars are falling with you.
You know this because the sky is alive with light, with streaks of silver and red blazing across a black canvas like brushstrokes made by something with too much grief and no hands left to hold it.
The salt flat stretches in every direction, miles of pale silver dust, still and echoing beneath your boots. It looks like snow. It tastes like memory.
You sit down where the sky is widest. Where no one will find you. Where he won’t have to see what you’ve become.
You curl your arms around yourself, head tipped toward the sky. Your skin feels too thin. Your vision flickers like candlelight. The stars fall like ash—too many, too fast—and in the middle of it all, the only thought that stays is him .
You wanted to wait. You wanted to be strong.
But there’s no more time.
When you hear footsteps, you’re too far gone to be surprised.
He drops to his knees beside you, arms catching your shoulders just as you begin to sway.
You want to say his name. It won’t come out, because you don’t remember it.
“I’m here,” he whispers, and his voice is broken glass wrapped in silk. “I’m here.”
You feel something pressed into your palm, something hard, cool and trembling. The cure. Too late.
You try to close your fingers around it. You can’t.
Your vision blurs. His hand finds yours, steadying it, cradling it. You feel his breath near your ear. His heart is hammering against your shoulder where you lean against him. You feel the way his arm folds around yours, like he can keep death out if he just holds you tightly enough.
He stretches out his other hand in front of you, his palm glowing softly.
“I wish to meet you in my next life… I wonder if that will come true…”
The gentle words leave your mouth unbidden as your eyes drift closed.
“...It will.”
You want to say I hope so , but your breath hitches, and your eyes are too heavy to open.
And in that last moment, you lean against him, weightless.
The meteors fall. His arms tighten.
And you dissolve into the salt, into the sky, into the soft echo of a promise too late to keep.
Alarms are screaming when you open your eyes again.
Lights flicker blood-red along twisted metal corridors, and the air is filled with smoke and silence and stars.
You’re running with no sound to your steps, only the rush of breath, the pull of gravity breaking apart beneath your feet. The ship around you is dying. Fracturing in slow, impossible collapse, splitting in places it shouldn't. As if reality is tearing sideways.
Beyond the bulkhead, space yawns open, a shattered viewport stretching toward the planet below. It isn’t a world you know, but it’s burning.
And he’s falling.
A figure, still, limp, drifting toward the upper atmosphere. Spinning slowly, the black of his body armor catching the last rays of a dying sun.
You dive through the broken fuselage, through fire, through vacuum, into orbit.
You reach for him, arms outstretched, fingers grasping at emptiness, every inch of you screaming to go faster .
He drifts downward, toward the planet’s pull. Unconscious. Already lost.
You push harder, and the stars tremble around you. Time fractures at the edges. The wreckage of the ship breaks apart above you in silvery shards spinning through the void like fragments of a memory too heavy to keep.
You reach him just as the first layers of the atmosphere kiss your skin and begin to burn.
You catch him in your arms, and anchor yourself to him, wrapping around his body like you could shield him from gravity itself.
You don’t know his name and you can’t see his face, but your soul knows the shape of him.
And in the moment before the end—the collapse, the incineration, the pull of the planet below—you hold him closer.
Just to be with him.
And then the light comes, and you both dissolve into unmaking.
Together.
You wake to the sound of beeping.
Your body feels too heavy at first, like you're still underwater, limbs made of stone and silk and something humming low beneath your skin. Your fingers twitch, and it takes a moment to understand that it’s you moving them.
Then you feel the steady thrum of your pulse syncing back into the world. Air in your lungs. The sharp scent of antiseptic.
You open your eyes.
The light above you is soft and diffused, filtered through a diagnostic interface, pale blue with drifting overlays. You’re in a hospital bed. Akso. You know the way the walls curve, the faint hum of the energy stabilizers built into the floor.
Your shoulder aches, but is unwrapped. Your other arm is warm where an IV feeds into your vein. The golden light is gone, but its afterimage lingers just behind your eyes like a sunspot.
Xavier sits at your bedside, leaned slightly forward, hands folded, the collar of his coat still torn and bloodstained. He looks exhausted, but he’s watching you quietly and steadily, the way gravity always is.
Your breath catches. “Xavi…”
His shoulders loosen like he hadn’t let himself relax until now.
“You’re awake.”
You try to sit up, but the stiffness drags you back. He reaches out, hand at your elbow. “Take it slow.”
Before you can ask what happened, another presence enters the room with firm, fluid footsteps and the muted rustle of a coat.
Zayne appears beside your bed, tablet in hand.
He pauses the moment he sees you conscious, and his expression softens only enough to register. Professional warmth threaded with personal relief.
“You gave us a scare,” he says, voice calm like the space around him. “But you’re stable now.”
You blink slowly, the last threads of dream still clinging to the corners of your mind. Gold. Stars. Falling.
“I touched… something,” you murmur.
Zayne nods. “Yes. A Protocore. One that shouldn’t exist, based on everything we know.”
He taps something on his screen. “The energy surge you absorbed triggered a full-body resonance cascade. Almost burned out your nervous system trying to anchor it. Whatever it was, it wasn’t inert.”
Xavier stays silent beside you, but you can feel the tension in his frame, the weight of his stillness.
You close your eyes for a breath, then wearily open them again.
Zayne studies the monitor beside your bed. Your vitals pulse across its surface in neat, rhythmic lines—stabilizing, but not quite ordinary.
“Your body was reacting to the absorption,” he says, eyes flicking between readouts. “Not dangerous. But… different.”
You shift slightly under the blanket. “Different how?”
Zayne taps the side of the display. “Your heart has been unsteady for a few hours, but nothing alarming.”
You glance at Xavier. He hasn’t moved much, but his attention is entirely on you. There’s a cut along his cheekbone and blood dried at the collar of his coat. Still, he looks better than you remember from—
The Aeonwyrm.
You jolt slightly. “What happened to it?”
Xavier meets your eyes. “Gone. Dissolved like the others. No sign left behind.”
Zayne looks between you. “Except the Protocore.”
You frown. “I don’t remember what happened after I touched it.”
“You collapsed,” Xavier says. “The energy cracked the shell and pulled into you. Knocked me back, knocked you out.”
Zayne nods. “You were unresponsive on arrival. Elevated neural activity consistent with full sensory immersion.”
Your stomach turns faintly. “I was dreaming,” you murmur. “But it didn’t feel like a dream.”
Zayne’s brow twitches subtly. “We need to run further scans. Something in that Protocore affected you at a foundational level.”
You meet his eyes—intensely hazel, edged in something unreadable. He’s worried. He just doesn’t say it.
“You’re not in danger,” he adds. “But this wasn’t a normal exposure. We’ve never seen anything like it.”
You nod slowly, mind still thick with the feel of dream-sand, wind, stars, and fire.
The silence stretches.
Then Zayne straightens slightly. “I’ll arrange for imaging and a comparative sync-map. We’ll monitor fluctuations over the next twelve hours. If anything changes—”
“I’ll report it,” you finish.
He nods once. “Get some rest. I’ll check in later.”
He steps back, nodding faintly to Xavier as he turns and exits the room, coat brushing softly at his sides.
The door slides shut behind him, leaving you and Xavier in the quiet hum of medical light and fading adrenaline.
You shift against the pillow, exhaling slowly. “Well,” you murmur, “that was fun.”
Xavier’s mouth twitches with the ghost of a smirk that flickers at the edge of his otherwise unreadable expression.
“You always pick the most dramatic ways to get out of a patrol.”
You snort, then immediately wince as your shoulder pulls. “Gotta keep things interesting.”
He leans forward just enough to reach the edge of the blanket and pulls it up a little higher over your arm. His fingers are careful.
You watch him for a second longer than you mean to. The cut on his cheek has stopped bleeding, but it’s still raw. There’s dust on the edge of his sleeve and his blue eyes seem slightly shadowed.
He hasn’t showered or changed.
You don’t say it, but you know he stayed.
He always stays.
You clear your throat softly. “You don’t have to sit here. I’m not going anywhere.”
He leans back slowly, but doesn’t rise. “I know.”
You shift your gaze to the monitor overhead, blinking slowly at the soft blue glow.
You let the silence stretch, weighted with things you don’t want to say yet.
Your eyes flick back to him, and just for a second, there’s a pull, like the shadow of a heartbeat you haven’t acknowledged yet.
You push it down, blame the drugs and the exhaustion. The fact that he carried you through hell and didn’t let go.
You shift slightly in the bed, wincing at the stiffness in your ribs. “Did they at least give you something to eat? You look like hell.”
Xavier lifts one shoulder. “Wasn’t hungry.”
You roll your eyes. “Classic.”
Still, your voice softens a touch. “Thanks… for not leaving.”
He nods once. “Didn’t plan to.”
You close your eyes for a moment, the warmth of his presence grounding you more than the machines ever could.
Time passes in measured fragments after that.
You’re given water. Monitored. Scanned again. The medtechs speak softly, in half-sentences. No one mentions the Protocore out loud. No one knows what it means yet.
Eventually, the machines are turned off. The lights dim. You sleep in short, uneasy intervals, not dreaming, not fully waking either.
When you next open your eyes, the room is dimmer and cooler. The pain has dulled to a low, familiar ache. Your body feels like yours again. Mostly.
Xavier’s still in the chair.
He doesn’t look like he’s moved much, but someone must’ve brought him a coffee at some point. It sits, half-drunk, beside his elbow on the tray table.
You’re about to speak when the door hisses open.
Jenna steps in, tablet in hand, coat unbuttoned and face set to serious .
She glances between you and Xavier, then nods once. “You look better.”
You push yourself up a little straighter. “I feel better.”
“Good,” she says, not missing a beat. “Debrief.”
You and Xavier exchange a glance.
The two of you recount the encounter with the Aeonwyrm, the elevated metaflux, the patrol route, and the shift in atmospheric resonance. You keep your voice level and objective. You describe the creature’s sudden emergence, its strength, the battle. You explain how you worked in tandem, how Xavier’s blade and your resonance managed to wear it down.
Then comes the part about the Protocore.
You keep it simple and factual.
“After it died, the area destabilized. We investigated the dissolving Aeonwyrm and found a protocore.” You glance at Xavier, then back at Jenna,before describing it.
Jenna types quietly.
“I picked it up,” you continue. “And it… cracked. Released some kind of energy. But I’m fine now. Just sore from the fight.”
Jenna’s eyes flick to the diagnostics. “Dr. Zayne said your neural patterns are still settling.”
“I feel normal,” you say simply.
Jenna watches you for a moment longer, then finally nods.
“I’ll file the report. Keep me updated if anything changes, even if it feels minor.”
You nod again.
She turns to Xavier. “You’re cleared too. I’ve taken you off the schedule for tomorrow, so take the time. Both of you.”
And then she’s gone, a flicker of worry hidden behind professionalism as she slips through the door and vanishes down the hall.
You exhale. The room feels quieter without her.
You turn to Xavier. He’s still watching the door like she might come back and tack on another lecture.
“Hey.”
He glances at you.
“You should go home.”
His brow shifts, barely. “I’m fine.”
You give him a look. “Xavier.”
That gets him.
You continue, voice warm but firm. “Go shower. Eat something. Sleep for more than twenty minutes in a chair.”
He hesitates. It’s not resistance, but habit. But this time, you don’t let him stay.
“I’m fine now,” you say gently. “I’ll text you the moment they clear me for discharge.”
He studies you for a long moment. Then finally, he nods. “I’ll be close.”
“I know.”
He rises slowly, grabbing the coffee cup and brushing a hand briefly against the side of the tray in an unspoken goodbye.
As he heads toward the door, he pauses just long enough to glance back.
You meet his gaze and smile, just a little.
He leaves without a word.
You rest after that, letting your body slow, your mind settle. The resonance inside you hums softer now, like a distant bell that’s stopped ringing but hasn’t quite forgotten how.
The ache in your shoulder pulses gently, a constant dull throb. Your other hand still has a faint mark where the IV had been.
You let yourself drift.
The sound of the door opening is so soft it barely registers.
You open your eyes.
Zayne steps in, medical scrubs traded for a fitted black shirt and clean slacks. There’s a calmness to him that wasn’t there earlier, like the edge has been filed down just slightly.
He holds something small in one hand.
“You’re awake.”
You offer him a tired half-smile. “Barely.”
He steps closer to the bed, tapping the side of the display once to bring up your latest scan. It’s brief, almost habitual.
“Everything looks stable,” he says, more gently this time. “No shifts since earlier. You’ll likely be cleared by morning.”
You nod, leaning back a bit against the pillows. “Thanks.”
He hesitates, then holds up the small item in his hand. It’s a velvet, resealable pouch. Inside, you know the strawberry hard candies rest, each one wrapped in neat, crinkled paper.
“I got these from Yvonne,” he says, with a subtle lift of his brows. “You dropped them off.”
You shrug. “Made them last night. Couldn’t sleep. Figured you might need a sugar break during rounds.”
His mouth twitches.
“They’re good.” He opens the pouch and takes one out. “Better than good, actually.”
You raise a brow. “Are you surprised?”
“A little,” he admits, peeling back the paper with precise fingers. “I didn’t know you baked.”
“I don’t. Candy’s different. It’s all chemistry.”
Zayne glances at you as he slips the candy into his mouth, then offers the pouch your way. You take one with your good hand, pop it in, and let the taste bloom across your tongue—tart, sweet, nostalgic in a way you weren’t expecting.
He sits in the chair Xavier vacated, resting one ankle over his knee.
You sit in the shared quiet, the two of you sucking on strawberry candy like nothing extraordinary happened at all.
Eventually, Zayne glances over. “You always do that?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Do what?”
“Think about other people when you’re the one hurting.”
You look at him and shrug a little. “Habit.”
He hums low in his throat, filing that away somewhere behind those sharp eyes.
You shift against the pillows, sighing. “Don’t tell Xavier I said this, but… it’s nice. Not being alone.”
Zayne leans back slightly, arms crossed, one candy still tucked against his cheek.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
And you both let the silence stretch again, easier now. Less weighted.
The candy softens on your tongue, sweet and sharp all at once.
Zayne stays quiet for a while, one leg crossed over the other, elbow resting on the arm of the chair. He’s watching the way the room moves in low, slow pulses.
You glance over at him.
“Rough shift?” you ask gently.
He breathes out through his nose. “Five surgeries since morning.”
You wince. “Did you even sleep?”
He gives a faint shrug. “Two hours. Maybe.”
You watch him for a beat longer. His composure hasn’t slipped, but you can see it in the way he leans into the chair now—the kind of tired that doesn’t leave your bones easily.
You nudge the pouch of candies toward him with a tilt of your hand. “Then you definitely earned the sugar.”
He huffs something like a laugh. “Apparently.” He takes another, peels it slower this time.
You let the silence stretch a little before breaking it again.
“You know,” you murmur, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not working.”
Zayne raises an eyebrow. “I am still technically working. You're my patient.”
“Right,” you say with a smirk. “Because patients usually get shared candy and mid-shift company.”
That earns you a look, sharp but edged with amusement.
“You were unconscious after a Protocore surge and your vitals defied normal parameters. I was concerned.”
You tilt your head. “But you didn’t have to come back.”
He looks at you for a second, unblinking.
Then: “No. I didn’t.”
The simple response is a truth offered plainly, and somehow, it means more than if he’d said anything softer.
You glance down at the half-empty pouch, then back up at him. “You ever take time for yourself? Just… time to be?”
He pauses. His jaw ticks once, an almost imperceptible reaction. “Not often.”
You nod, unsurprised. “You should.”
Zayne doesn’t respond right away. Then:
“I used to.”
Your gaze flicks to his face.
He’s staring at the middle distance—not far, but not here.
“It’s easier not to need anything when you’re constantly needed,” he says quietly. “Eventually, you forget how to slow down.”
You let that settle between you.
“Then maybe next time I make something, I’ll bring two bags,” you say.
Zayne finally looks at you again, and this time, he smiles for just a flicker. “Deal.”
You settle deeper into the hospital bed, the ache in your shoulder reduced to background noise. The monitors blink slower now, more rhythm than data.
Zayne doesn’t speak again, and neither do you.
You lean your head back against the pillow and let your eyes fall shut, not quite meaning to.
The silence becomes a blanket, light and breathable.
Somewhere, distantly, you hear the soft tap of Zayne’s fingers against his tablet, checking your final scan.
Your breath evens out. You drift onto a deep, aching quiet.
As you begin to slide into sleep, you feel something shift beside you. A slight movement. The blanket at your waist is gently lifted and tucked higher, up around your chest.
His fingers rest lightly against the edge of the blanket, just long enough to anchor the moment.
Then the chair creaks softly. His footsteps retreat across the room, slow and soundless.
The door whispers open.
You never hear it close, only the quiet sound of your own breath in the stillness left behind.